Searing streams of lava sliced through the
rocky foothills, ran together in pools and lakes, rolled
into rivers and flowed sluggishly, scorching the earth.
Acrid fumes bubbled upwards, caught in the air, drifted
out across the poisoned landscape in lethal black clouds.
A deep rumble, a subterranean grumble, shattered through
the valley. The ground quaked and deep chasms were
wrenched open, releasing foul vapours like stale breath.
The sky was dark; dark and angry; dark and lethal;
raining fire.

Ah, home sweet home.

Nick
De Ville tapped his long slender talons against the glass
and bared his pointed yellow teeth in a parody of a
smile. He brushed a mote of dust from his sleeve and
straightened his tie as he turned away from the window.

The
boardroom was square, functional, finished in shiny black
marble. Twelve foul and loathsome demons sat around the
long oval table; twelve heads of department. Old Jed, The
Horned One, had just finished reading the minutes of the
previous meeting. He laid his papers down on the table,
meticulously arranged them so that they sat in a neat
pile, then looked up at Mr De Ville.

"And
might I just add, on a personal note, " he said
pleasantly, "how delighted we all are to have you
back amongst us after your recent trip."

"It's
good to be back," De Ville acknowledged. He took his
seat at the head of the table. "Much as I abhor
these business excursions to the mortal world, I am
afraid they are becoming increasingly necessary. The odd
'personal appearance' here and there can pay
great dividends to our operation."

De
Ville sat back, closed his eyes and recalled his most
recent engagement. It had been, he thought immodestly, a
sterling appearance. He had appeared to a city stock
broker at the stroke of midnight (timing was everything)
spitting fire and brimstone, roaring and cursing in some
arcane tongue, and smelling like the darkest, dankest
filth pit in Hades. To say that the stockbroker in
question had been somewhat impressed would be putting it
mildly. He had immediately signed over his soul in return
for a pot full of cash and the attentions of a slightly
saggy former 'Page Three' model. Sadly, De
Ville had neglected to inform him that he only had
forty-eight hours to enjoy his spoils, before fate
decreed that his worthless life should be snubbed out
beneath the rear axle of the 3.30 to Shepherd's
Bush. Ah well, ignorance is bliss.

De
Ville suddenly scrunched up his face and sneezed. Tiny
flames leapt from his nostrils and mouth. He found his
attention abruptly jolted back to the meeting.

"Do
excuse me," he apologised. He pulled a pair of
half-moon spectacles from his top pocket and perched them
on the bridge of his spiky nose. Then he glanced down at
his agenda sheet. "Right, shall we proceed? Mr
Bezzlecrag, perhaps you would like to start us off by
filling us all in on the progress made by your department
while I've been away?"

Bezzlecrag
grunted and leaned forward. He was a wiry, fidgety little
creature with pale, damp skin, angular limbs and a
slender, barbed tail which curled up over his head like a
scorpion's sting. Or, in a certain light, like the
pick-up on a dodgem car.

"We've
had a quiet month in the Natural Catastrophes Department,
I'm very much afraid to say," he reported. His
voice was hoarse, coarse, and difficult to follow.
Furthermore, a faint tremble underlined each word: when
he said he was 'afraid to say', he meant it. Mr
De Ville, perhaps understandably, had a very Draconian
attitude to staff relations.

"Oh
dear," De Ville said disappointedly, giving his
minion little room for hope.

"But
we have got something exciting lined up for
February," Bezzlecrag added quickly. "A major
season of earthquakes, plus a few one-off specials - a
typhoon in South East Asia, some tidal waves in Australia
and a really spectacular volcanic eruption that
we've got pencilled in for the 25th. They won't
be expecting that."

"No?"
said De Ville, peering at him inquisitively over the top
of his spectacles.

"No
- it's in Coventry," said Bezzlecrag.

De
Ville smiled approvingly. "Nice one," he said.

"Right
outside Woolworth's," Bezzlecrag added with
some relief. He drew a sharp intake of breath, then
belched loudly. An abominable stench began to waft
through the room.

"Bless
you," someone thoughtfully intoned.

Bezzlecrag
thanked them and continued, his confidence growing.
"Now, as you know, we've been giving Trinidad a
hard time just lately - hurricanes, plagues of locusts,
that sort of thing."

"Yes,
I've been keeping my eye on that one," said De
Ville with a giggle.

"Their
population is decimated," Bezzlecrag expounded.
"Their economy is shattered, their crops are ruined.
Nevertheless, the islanders have struggled admirably
against all the odds; they've shown considerable
courage and resolve in the face of such tragedy."

"Yes?"

"Well,
we thought it might be a bit of a giggle to have the
whole island suddenly sink into the sea," Bezzlecrag
said gleefully. "We're working very closely
with Mr Scarramank and his people in the Implausible
Coincidences Department on this one."

Scarramank
acknowledged the name-check with a wave of one bloated,
blood-red paw.

"Good,
very good," De Ville said. "Which brings us
very neatly onto you, Mr Scarramank. What else has your
department been up to?"

Scarramank
scratched his head - a blotchy, crimson dome, hairless
save for the odd tuft of curly black fur. "Well, I
can't claim to have caused quite as much havoc as my
colleagues in Natural Disasters," he said guardedly.

"Of
course," De Ville acknowledged gracefully. "I
appreciate that your particular area of expertise is
indeed a fine art."

"I
like to think so," Scarramank said smugly. He opened
a file, took out a large glossy photograph and held it
aloft for the others to see. It was a head and shoulders
shot of a pasty-faced man in his forties, his thinning
hair scraped unconvincingly over the top of his head.
"This is Mr Francis Wimble of 46 Mercia Terrace,
Scarborough," Scarramank explained. "This one
has been on our books for some time, actually. Oh yes,
we've had quite a lot of fun with this gentleman
over the years."

A low
murmur passed around the others present. This was going
to be a good one, they could feel it. Scarramank could
almost taste their anticipation and, ever the showman, he
paused to savour the moment before resuming.

"In
his childhood," he continued, "Mr Wimble
contracted measles five times, chicken pox three times
and tonsillitis twice. More recently we've given him
appendicitis, meningitis, scurvy and the clap. He's
been in fourteen car accidents, nine industrial
accidents, three plane crashes and an incident with a
hovercraft. In 1974 we arranged for him to be struck by
lightening on six consecutive evenings - one of my
personal favourites, that one."

Mr De
Ville nodded. "Ah yes, Wimble. We all have a good
laugh about him at home, when there's nothing on the
telly."

"Then
you will know," Scarramank continued, "that for
the last ten years he's been imprisoned in Dartmoor
for a crime he did not commit. He gets out next week, and
seeing as how he's got off lightly so far, we
thought it might be a nice idea for him to be struck by a
meteorite."

"Oh
bravo!" an enthusiastic admirer called out.

"Very
good, very good!" De Ville commended him, as a
ripple of applause carried around the table.

De
Ville allowed the jollity to die down of its own accord.
Then his gaze came to rest on a small, impish figure,
almost dwarfed by the chair in which he sat. His skin was
pale green, except for the tips of his pointed ears,
which faded to yellow. His eyes were red and slanted,
restlessly darting left and right.

"Mr
Frutterbugs?"

"Sir,"
the impish creature croaked nervously.

"This
is young Mr Frutterbugs," De Ville announced to the
rest of the table. "Mr Frutterbugs has recently been
promoted to the head of the Electrical Appliances
Department. As I'm sure you will know, it is his
responsibility to ensure that all gizmos, gadgets and
suchlike break down the very day after the guarantee has
expired. So, how are things in your department, Mr
Frutterbugs?"

"Oh
come now, Mr Frutterbugs," De Ville said in
friendly, parental tones. "Please don't be
intimidated by all this talk of earthquakes and
meteorites. We do appreciate just how important your
department is to our operation. It might seem to you that
your work involves only minor devilry, but do I assure
you that the cumulative effect of all your efforts is
quite devastating."